I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because I have fought for them—through poverty, grief, responsibility, and resilience. My dreams are not rooted in fantasy or privilege; they are grounded in survival, lived experience, and a deep desire to create change for others like me. I was raised by a single mother who supported our family through Food Stamps, WIC, and yard sales. We went without food, electricity, and even housing. I remember the day we were evicted on my brother’s 6th-grade promotion—a moment that should’ve been full of joy turned into a traumatic memory. My brother left crying, saying he was running away. That morning taught me the emotional toll of poverty and injustice, and it planted a seed in me that I carry to this day: things must be different for the next generation. Despite everything, I became the first in my family to attend college. I’m now pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. My days are filled with helping students register for classes, plan community events, and connect with resources—many of them are first-gen, Latinx, and low-income, just like me. I see myself in them, and I understand their fears because I’ve lived them. My goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa Community College, where I can lead system-wide change to ensure students like us feel seen, supported, and valued. I’ve also faced unimaginable loss. Last year, my mother was hit by a car and declared brain dead. Navigating full-time school, a full-time job, and grief was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Yet, I persisted. I began seeing a grief counselor and found the strength to keep going—for her and for myself. Despite the trauma, I earned a place on the President’s List. That moment proved to me that I’m not only capable—I’m unstoppable when driven by purpose. Beyond academics and work, I actively serve my community. I volunteer with ASEZ WAO, helping organize cultural exchange booths, blood drives, clean-up events, crime prevention forums, and food support through the Nourish program. I believe in showing up for others, because I know what it feels like when no one shows up for you. I’m worth my dreams because I have lived the hardship I seek to address. My goals are not self-serving—they’re rooted in service, leadership, and community transformation. I bring a unique perspective that can’t be taught in a textbook: one of struggle, empathy, and grit. I am living proof that adversity can be the foundation of greatness. I don’t just dream for myself—I dream for every student who has ever felt unseen, every child who’s gone to bed hungry, and every person who has been told they don’t belong. I am worth the dreams I chase because I’ve earned them—and I plan to use them to open doors for others.

My life story is shaped by hardship, yet it is also a testament to perseverance, growth, and a deep commitment to helping others overcome their own challenges. I grew up in a low-income, single-parent household. My mother was our sole provider, supporting our family through Food Stamps, WIC, cash aid, and selling secondhand clothes at yard sales. We often lacked basic necessities like food, electricity, and gas, and faced homelessness multiple times. One of the most traumatic moments I remember is the day we were evicted on my brother’s 6th-grade promotion day. As the sheriff knocked on our door at 6 a.m., my brother ran out crying, feeling lost and scared. That moment deeply affected me, teaching me the emotional weight of poverty and the resilience needed to endure it. Despite these hardships, I have proven my strength through persistence and hard work. I am the first person in my family to attend college, pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. Balancing work, school, and family struggles—especially after my mother was tragically hit by a car and declared brain dead—was one of the most challenging times of my life. Yet, I continued to excel academically, earning a spot on the President’s List during that difficult year. This accomplishment symbolizes my refusal to let adversity define me. My resilience extends beyond personal success; it fuels my desire to give back to my community. I actively volunteer with ASEZ WAO, an organization dedicated to service and cultural exchange. Through ASEZ WAO, I have helped host cultural exchange booths, organized blood drives, participated in crime prevention forums, and led community clean-ups. I also delivered snacks to the Nourish program, supporting individuals facing food insecurity. These experiences have allowed me to connect with my community in meaningful ways and demonstrate the importance of collective care and support. Working full-time at the community college outreach center, I assist students who come from backgrounds similar to mine—many are first-generation, Latinx, and low-income. I help them register for classes, plan events, and navigate the complexities of higher education. Being a mentor and advocate for these students brings me immense joy and purpose because I know firsthand how transformative support can be. In every challenge I face, I choose resilience. I have transformed pain into purpose by not only achieving academic and professional success but by lifting others as I rise. I am committed to becoming the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa Community College, where I plan to lead initiatives that empower underserved students and foster inclusive educational environments. Life may be hard, but with determination and heart, I have proven that success is possible. My journey is a reflection of resilience, and my community involvement is proof that helping others is the greatest way to overcome adversity.

Being a first-generation college student has deeply shaped my identity, values, and vision for the future. It’s not just a title I carry—it’s a lived experience that influences every step I take and fuels my determination to uplift others who come from similar backgrounds. I was raised by a single mother who was the sole provider for our family. She supported us with Food Stamps, WIC, and cash aid while selling secondhand clothes at yard sales just to cover basic needs. We often lived without food, electricity, or gas—and even experienced homelessness more than once. One painful memory that still lives in me is the day we were evicted at 6 a.m. on my brother’s 6th-grade promotion day. He left the house crying with his backpack, saying he was going to run away. That was the moment I first understood what poverty meant—not just in material terms, but emotionally. It was trauma, shame, and helplessness wrapped into one. Despite these challenges, I always knew I wanted something more. I didn’t know exactly how to get there, but I was determined to break the cycle. Being the first in my family to attend college is an enormous responsibility. I carry the weight of my mother’s sacrifices and the hope of my younger siblings. I am currently pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. There, I help students register for classes, plan community events, manage social media, and represent the college at outreach tables. Many of the students I serve are first-generation, Latinx, and low-income—just like me. I see myself in their questions, fears, and dreams. My experiences have taught me how powerful representation and support can be. Because I know what it’s like to navigate systems alone, I’ve made it my mission to be the support I wish we had. Last year, I endured one of the hardest moments of my life—losing my mother after she was hit by a car and declared brain dead. While balancing full-time work and school, I sat in the hospital navigating grief, trauma, and family conflict. I started seeing a grief counselor and found the strength to keep going. Despite the pain, I earned a place on the President’s List for academic excellence. That achievement reminded me of my resilience and purpose. Being a first-generation student influences my career goal of becoming the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa Community College. I want to lead with empathy and advocate for systems that support students who often feel invisible. I want to ensure that first-gen, low-income, and Latinx students are not only welcomed into higher education—but that they thrive in it. This journey has taught me that my story matters, and that leadership rooted in lived experience can create real, lasting change. I am not just pursuing a degree—I’m pursuing a future where others like me can see what’s possible.

Being a first-generation college student influences every part of my journey—especially my career goals. I come from a low-income, single-parent household where higher education wasn’t always seen as an option, but more like an unreachable dream. My mother worked tirelessly to keep us afloat, using Food Stamps, WIC, and yard sales just to put food on the table. We often went without basic necessities and experienced homelessness. Despite those hardships, I was determined to break that cycle—not just for myself, but for my entire family. College has opened my eyes to opportunities and systems that once felt completely out of reach. As a first-gen student, I don’t take education for granted. I know the barriers that can prevent students from getting here because I’ve lived them. That’s why my career goal isn’t just to get a degree—it’s to use that degree to create change. I’m currently pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. I assist students who remind me of myself: Latinx, low-income, and the first in their family to pursue college. Helping them navigate education has solidified my passion for higher ed leadership. My ultimate goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa Community College. I want to lead programs that support underserved students, remove barriers, and build a sense of belonging for those who often feel invisible. Being a first-gen student has shaped me into a leader with empathy, drive, and vision. It’s not just a label—it’s my motivation. I want to prove that we belong not only in college classrooms, but in positions of leadership where we can reshape the system for those who come next.

Growing up in a single-parent, low-income household shaped every part of who I am. My mother was our sole provider, raising us on Food Stamps, WIC, and cash aid while selling clothes at yard sales to make ends meet. We often went without food, electricity, or gas, and experienced homelessness more than once. Despite all of this, my mom never stopped fighting for us. Her strength and sacrifice taught me resilience, empathy, and determination. One moment that has stayed with me was the day we were evicted on my brother’s 6th-grade promotion day. The sheriff knocked on our door at 6 a.m., and my brother, dressed in his nice clothes, walked away crying. That day showed me the emotional weight of poverty—but also lit a fire in me to build a different future. I’m the first in my family to attend college, currently pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. I help students register for classes, manage social media, and plan events. Many of them are Latinx, first-generation, and low-income—just like me. My story allows me to connect with them in meaningful ways and provide the support I wish I had growing up. Last year, I lost my mother after she was hit by a car and declared brain dead. While grieving, working full-time, and going to school, I still made the President’s List. I also began seeing a grief counselor to help process my loss. My long-term goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center, leading change for students from underserved backgrounds. My life has given me purpose—and I plan to use it to uplift others who are still climbing out of the same struggles I faced.

I am a proud first-generation, Mexican-American student whose life has been shaped by poverty, trauma, and resilience. My background is not defined by statistics but by lived experiences—ones that fuel my desire to break generational cycles and uplift others like me. I come from a low-income family where basic needs were often a luxury. We went without food, electricity, and gas more times than I can count. We experienced homelessness multiple times. One of the most vivid and painful memories I carry is from my brother’s 6th-grade promotion day. At 6 a.m., the sheriff came to evict us. My brother, in his dress clothes, grabbed his backpack and walked out the door crying, saying he was running away. That was the day I first understood what poverty meant—not just physically, but emotionally. That trauma stayed with me, but it also became the foundation of my determination to change the course of my life. Being the first in my family to attend college isn’t just a personal achievement—it’s a responsibility. I carry the weight of my family’s sacrifices, and I’m deeply committed to making our struggles mean something. I’m currently pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. There, I assist students with registration, coordinate community events, manage social media, and represent the college at outreach events. Many of the students I work with are Latinx, first-generation, or from low-income families—just like me. Every time I help one of them, I feel like I’m healing a younger version of myself. More recently, my world was shaken again when my mother was hit by a car and later declared brain dead. It was the first time I had ever experienced the loss of a loved one—let alone my mother. I had to witness my family argue over the decision to remove her from life support. The grief was unimaginable, and I was still expected to balance full-time school and work. To begin healing, I started seeing a grief counselor. Therapy has helped me process my emotions and continue forward while honoring my mom’s memory. She believed in me, and I owe it to her to keep going. Despite all of this, I managed to make the President’s List this past academic year—a recognition for maintaining a high GPA. It’s one of the accomplishments I’m most proud of, not just because of the academic rigor, but because it symbolizes my resilience. It shows that even in the darkest moments, I refused to give up. My ultimate goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa Community College. I want to lead systemic change and ensure students like me are seen, supported, and empowered. My education is not just a path to personal success—it’s a tool for community transformation. I want to prove that first-generation, Latinx students belong in leadership, that our stories are valuable, and that we can turn pain into purpose.

I’ll never forget the morning we were evicted. It was 6 a.m. on my little brother’s promotion day. We were supposed to be getting ready to celebrate him, but instead, we were being forced out. I remember crying, running down the street with trash bags full of our things, embarrassed and scared. My brother was still in his ceremony clothes, confused. That morning broke something in me—but it also lit a fire. I promised myself that one day, I’d find a way out and help others do the same. We grew up in poverty. At times, we had no gas, no lights, and no stable place to live. But even with everything we lacked, my mom made sure we never gave up. She was my biggest supporter—my motivation, my strength, my home. Losing her recently has been the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. There’s no way to put it lightly. Grief doesn’t just hurt, it follows you into everything—work, school, life. Some days I felt like I was just surviving again. I started seeing a grief counselor, which has helped me keep going. I’m still healing, but my purpose is clearer than ever: I want to help people who feel like I did—lost, alone, and overwhelmed. Even through all of this, I’ve kept a 4.0 GPA and earned a spot on the President’s List. I work full-time at a community college in outreach and recruitment, helping students just like me—Latinx, first-gen, low-income—navigate the system. My job inspired me to go back to school, and now I’m earning my Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management. My goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa, where I work. I want to create programs that support students through real-life struggles—mental health, housing insecurity, grief, all of it. I want to be someone who listens, who understands, and who shows them that their story doesn’t disqualify them—it makes them stronger. This scholarship would lift a huge weight off my shoulders. Balancing school, full-time work, and grief hasn’t been easy. Financial stress makes it even harder. This support would allow me to keep pushing forward without sacrificing my well-being. It would also be an investment in my community. Everything I’ve been through—eviction, loss, poverty—has given me the insight to change lives, not just my own. I miss my mom every day. She wasn’t just a parent—she was my best friend, my guide, and the reason I’ve made it this far. I carry her with me in everything I do. And with your support, I’ll carry her legacy forward—by showing up for others the way she always showed up for me.

Growing up in a low-income, Mexican-American household meant that survival came before stability. My family often lived on the edge—without food in the fridge, without electricity or gas, and at times, without a roof over our heads. I experienced homelessness more than once, but the emotional toll of poverty ran deeper than the physical conditions. One memory that still lingers is the day we were evicted. It was 6 a.m. on my older brother’s 6th-grade promotion day. As the sheriff knocked on our door, my brother grabbed his backpack and ran out crying, saying he was going to run away. That was the moment I truly understood what poverty meant—more than financial struggle, it meant fear, shame, and stolen childhoods. These early experiences forced me to grow up quickly. They taught me resilience, but also gave me a deep sense of empathy and responsibility. I became aware of how systems fail families like mine—not because we didn’t work hard, but because we didn’t have access to the right resources or support. I learned to value not only hard work, but also compassion, education, and community. My background lit a fire in me to be the support I wish we’d had. Today, I am the first in my family to attend college. I’m pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. There, I help students register for classes, plan events, manage social media, and connect with the community. Many of them come from backgrounds similar to mine—first-generation, Latinx, low-income. Every time I help one of them, I feel like I’m making a small dent in the cycle that kept my family struggling. Recently, I faced another life-changing hardship. My mother was struck by a car and later declared brain dead. Sitting in the hospital, watching my family argue over removing her from life support, was the most traumatic experience of my life. I was attending school full-time while working and navigating grief. But even in my darkest moment, I didn’t quit. I started seeing a grief counselor to help process everything and learn how to cope in healthy ways. Through it all, I made the President’s List for academic achievement. That recognition, earned during one of the hardest times of my life, reminded me of my strength. My past doesn’t define me, but it drives me. I don’t just want to succeed—I want to lead. My ultimate goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa Community College, where I can shape programs and policies that support students like me. I want to show other first-gen, Latinx students that we belong in higher education—and in leadership. Growing up in poverty gave me pain, but it also gave me purpose. It shaped my values of perseverance, empathy, and service. I’m committed to using my education and experience to create opportunities for others who are still climbing their way out.

I am a proud first-generation, Mexican-American student whose life has been shaped by poverty, trauma, and resilience. My background is not defined by statistics but by lived experiences—ones that fuel my desire to break generational cycles and uplift others like me. I come from a low-income family where basic needs were often a luxury. We went without food, electricity, and gas more times than I can count. We experienced homelessness multiple times. One of the most vivid and painful memories I carry is from my brother’s 6th-grade promotion day. At 6 a.m., the sheriff came to evict us. My brother, in his dress clothes, grabbed his backpack and walked out the door crying, saying he was running away. That was the day I first understood what poverty meant—not just physically, but emotionally. That trauma stayed with me, but it also became the foundation of my determination to change the course of my life. Being the first in my family to attend college isn’t just a personal achievement—it’s a responsibility. I carry the weight of my family’s sacrifices, and I’m deeply committed to making our struggles mean something. I’m currently pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management while working full-time at a community college outreach center. There, I assist students with registration, coordinate community events, manage social media, and represent the college at outreach events. Many of the students I work with are Latinx, first-generation, or from low-income families—just like me. Every time I help one of them, I feel like I’m healing a younger version of myself. More recently, my world was shaken again when my mother was hit by a car and later declared brain dead. It was the first time I had ever experienced the loss of a loved one—let alone my mother. I had to witness my family argue over the decision to remove her from life support. The grief was unimaginable, and I was still expected to balance full-time school and work. To begin healing, I started seeing a grief counselor. Therapy has helped me process my emotions and continue forward while honoring my mom’s memory. She believed in me, and I owe it to her to keep going. Despite all of this, I managed to make the President’s List this past academic year—a recognition for maintaining a high GPA. It’s one of the accomplishments I’m most proud of, not just because of the academic rigor, but because it symbolizes my resilience. It shows that even in the darkest moments, I refused to give up. My ultimate goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center at Chemeketa Community College. I want to lead systemic change and ensure students like me are seen, supported, and empowered. My education is not just a path to personal success—it’s a tool for community transformation. I want to prove that first-generation, Latinx students belong in leadership, that our stories are valuable, and that we can turn pain into purpose.

Early childhood trauma can leave lasting emotional, psychological, and developmental scars. When a child experiences poverty, instability, neglect, or grief at a young age, it disrupts their sense of safety and belonging. It can lead to low self-esteem, difficulty trusting others, chronic anxiety, depression, and a diminished sense of self-worth—often carrying into adulthood and impacting education, relationships, and career opportunities. I experienced this firsthand. I grew up in a low-income, Mexican-American household where survival often took priority over emotional well-being. We didn’t always have food, electricity, or gas. We were evicted multiple times, and one moment that I can never forget was the day the sheriff came to our door at 6 a.m. to remove us from our home. That day was supposed to be my older brother’s 6th-grade promotion—an important milestone. Instead of celebrating, he left crying, saying he was running away. That moment shaped how I saw the world: as unsafe, unpredictable, and unfair. These early traumas taught me to survive, but they also gave me a passion to help others do more than survive—to thrive. I’m now a first-generation college student pursuing a Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management. I work full-time at a community college outreach center where I help students—many of whom also come from marginalized or traumatized backgrounds—access higher education, register for classes, and find a sense of purpose. I use my story to connect with them and offer the kind of support I never had. When I was 15 I experience another form of trauma, where I was abused by the father of my sisters kids. Going through such a painful abuse silence me for a long time where I couldn’t connect with people, I was afraid of men and couldn’t speak around them. Recently, I lost my mother after she was hit by a car and declared brain dead. It was the first time I experienced the death of someone close to me, and the trauma was compounded by witnessing my family argue in the hospital over removing her from life support. I was attending school full-time during this, trying to balance my grief with my responsibilities. To help me cope, I started seeing a grief counselor. Therapy has taught me that trauma doesn’t disappear—but it can be understood and transformed. My long-term goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center. In that role, I plan to advocate for trauma-informed practices across higher education. I want our institutions to recognize that students don’t leave their trauma at the door—and that our job isn’t just to educate, but to care, empower, and help heal.

I’m passionate about being a first-generation, Mexican-American student because I’ve lived through the struggles that so many students quietly carry with them—poverty, instability, and lack of access to basic resources. I come from a low-income family where we often didn’t have food, electricity, or gas. We experienced homelessness more than once. One memory that still haunts me is the day the sheriff came to evict us. It was 6 a.m., and it happened to be my older brother’s 6th-grade promotion day. A day that should have been filled with celebration and pride quickly turned into a traumatic experience. As the sheriff knocked on our door, my brother grabbed his backpack and left the house crying, saying he was running away. That moment has never left me. It was the first time I truly understood what it meant to grow up in poverty, and how deeply it can affect a child’s sense of safety and worth. Being the first in my family to attend college is not just a milestone—it’s a mission. I’m currently pursuing my Bachelor of Applied Science in Leadership and Management and working full-time at a community college outreach center. There, I help students from similar backgrounds register for classes, find resources, and feel a sense of belonging. I also support our community through tabling events, social media outreach, and public engagement. My goal is to make higher education more accessible for students who feel like it’s out of reach. Recently, my mother passed away after being hit by a car and declared brain dead. I had to fly out to the hospital and be physically present for the doctor to remove her ventilator so she can pass away. I was going to school full-time when it happened. Grieving while working and studying was overwhelming, but I didn’t stop. I’m currently seeing a grief counselor to help with my grief. I never experience having someone in my family pass away. However, I kept going, because my mother believed in me, and I want to make her proud. My long-term goal is to become the Dean of the Woodburn Center, where I can continue breaking down barriers for first-gen and Latinx students. I want to create opportunities for Latinx and first-gen students to thrive—to let them know they are seen, they matter, and they can succeed. Being a first-generation, Mexican-American student is not just something I am—it’s what fuels me. It’s my purpose.